


Starlight Sins

by ladyofstardvst



Category: Deadly Class (Comics), Deadly Class (TV)
Genre: borderline panic/anxiety attack, comforting marcus, in depth description of blood, murder mention, this turned darker than planned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-20
Updated: 2019-03-20
Packaged: 2019-11-26 10:20:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18179351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyofstardvst/pseuds/ladyofstardvst
Summary: You make your first kill, absolutely lose it and Marcus refuses to leave you to deal with the aftermath. Soft, comforting Marcus!!!!





	Starlight Sins

**Author's Note:**

> literally what a DARK AND DIRTY RIDE THIS IS but emotionally, not like, physically.

All you knew was that he was dead.

He was _dead_ , you were _alive_ , and you were about to _los_ _e_ it.

You never thought it would feel so heavy, like the weight of the world was making a new home on your chest, or how the ringing in your ears was deafening and still growing louder and louder and _louder_. You never thought your mind would go blank; it was supposed to be fluid and calculating and compartmentalizing and quick on it’s feet. It was _not_ supposed to be an incoherent mess repeating the words: _he’s dead, he’s dead, he’s dead_ , followed by a frantic: _I killed him, I killed him, I killed him_.

Over and over and over.

Rinse and repeat.

The stickiness of drying blood was suddenly and overwhelmingly present on your hands and the skin beneath your shirt where it dripped and splattered. The material clung to your skin like glue and you wanted to claw it off, and off, and _off_.

The oxygen in your chest felt thicker, breath came in quicker, faster. It felt like your lungs were growing flowers; maroon roses taking root around your organs, navy blue irises and divine golden dahlias were sprouting up your throat, the petals drifting to the ground from your open mouth.

You weren’t about to lose it anymore, because you already _were_ losing it.

You don’t even remember that Marcus stood behind you, hands tangled in his hair and face scrunched up in both alarm and awe. It melted into an expression of relief, and then flat out concern when you dropped the every-day-object-turned-weapon from your hands and threw your guts up on the pavement next to the body growing cold at your feet.

He’s there then, pulled back out of shock and back into reality; one hand on your arm to steady you and the other on your back, tracing your spine up and down, up and down. It did little to ground you, but at least you _could_ feel him there with you. Logic told you that you were _not_ alone.

Then he was saying something, you were sure of it, but over the ringing in your ears and the dinner you just ate making a sudden reappearance? You couldn’t hear a single word that left his mouth.

Both of you stood there for another minute, hour, maybe even another _month_ – you’re unsure of _everything_ at that very moment – but your eyes fell shut. It’s easier to focus on Marcus’s touch that way, with the lack of visual reminders. Easier to feel the way his fingertips trailed along your spine and the sturdy grip he held on your arm. You focused harder, tried to align your breathing with the action of his hand behind you.

Slowly, oh so very slowly, the ringing in your ears began to subside. The air that entered in and left out your lungs became less erratic. Your eyes fluttered open to be met with the brown ones of the living, breathing boy next to you. His brows were knitted together, eyes dark in the shadows of the alley. His face reminded you of those old-school, dramatic theater masks painted to convey worry and fear. Except this was flesh and bone and all of those emotions were for _you_.

“Can you . . . can you say all of that again? I couldn’t hear anything you said after . . .” you cleared your throat, and let your voice trail into hiding.

He guides you away from the corpse, away from the pool of blood still leaking lazily toward the both of you. His hands were on your shoulders, eyes becoming level with yours. “Are you okay for now, or are you going to throw up again?”

His voice made your heart squeeze harder than it already was (you felt it – a quick sharp pain, and a distant burning in your lungs). It was soft and gentle and dripping with apprehension and urgency. He was onto something, you discovered. Your mind started to come back to itself little by little. You knew what he would try to tell you next.

Your eyes held his for a second or two before you forced your head to nod. “Yeah, I’ll . . . I won’t throw up again,” you needed to get far away and _quick_ before someone saw. “Marcus, if someone sees -”

“They won’t,” he says. “Just stay right here while I move him behind the dumpster. Can you do that?”

You barely felt your head convey _yes_ to him before he did what had to be done. Your eyes started to burn with the warning of oncoming tears. You felt the back of your throat grow thick with them.

_This isn’t the time, nor is it the place,_ you realized, wishing you thought of that _before_ you froze like a deer exposed in the headlights of oncoming traffic. You wished you realized that _before_ you got sick. You wished your instincts didn’t totally and utterly _fail you_ while your _body_ seized control instead of your _training_. You shoved the tears down as far and as fast as you could, like they were an empty bottle of smuggled-in hard liquor you hid in your dorm room trash basket.

You shoved them down harder and harder when you almost rubbed your bloodstained hands down your face.

Time was warped enough that you weren’t sure if Marcus acted swift or slow, when he returned to you. It didn’t matter, because next thing you knew he stripped off his hoodie and wrapped it around your shoulders. His lips swept up yours in the most grounding, reassuring kiss you’ve ever received in your life.

||

“You’ll be okay, you know,” he says to you, hours later.

You were the only two on the rooftop that night, both wrapped up in a blanket and each others arms under the stars. You made it back to King’s without incident, and you went straight to the showers without a word while Marcus gathered fresh clothes for you. He waited outside the shower stalls and made sure no one entered while you collapsed under the weight of what your life was going to be from now on, how you would always remember this day, this feeling, what you’ve done.

While you tried and failed to accept that this was now your life.

He said that it never went away, and that whole “time heals all wounds is bullshit,” but time makes it easier to accept, whether you wanted to or not.

You laughed and told him that sounded like more of his own _Pretentious_ _Arguello_ _B_ _ullshit_ , but it made sense and you hated it, hated what this place has done to you, to _both_ of you, but you were glad he was there with you and you were glad he was trying to make you _not_ feel like the worst human being on planet Earth.

“You’re stronger than you think you are,” he goes on, voice dropping several octaves. He was being vulnerable with you. It was calculated. It was soothing. “That’s one of the things I love about you. And even though it feels like the end of the fucking world, you’ll still pull through. If I can function more or less like a human after Rory . . . then there’s nothing but hope for you.”

“Marcus, you hallucinated for like, two weeks.”

He laughed at your jab, and it made your lips twitch up in a sad excuse for a smile. Your heart sang at the music he made with his voice.

“And if you can give me shit about it, you’re already handling this better than I ever could.” You heard the pride in his voice loud and clear; his eyes were drowning with hope when he looked at you watching the lights of the city skyline twinkle.

There was a haunted look to your eyes usually bright with love and light. It scared him, honestly, but he would rather live through killing Rory a thousand times than leave you to deal with this alone. You were both aware of the countless mistakes he’s made while being at King’s, but he knew you deserved better than that. He knew he _must_ do better, and in that moment on that rooftop, he realized he would do _anything_ for you.

He pulled you closer, and stayed with you as long as you needed him.


End file.
